


Pretty Please

by fictionalthoughts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Choking, F/M, Mando/Reader - Freeform, Public Sex, Shameless Smut, The Mandalorian(The Mandalorian TV) Smut, The Mandalorian/Reader - Freeform, star wars smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21742291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalthoughts/pseuds/fictionalthoughts
Summary: tumblr ask: can we have some semi or public sex with our best boy pretty please*this fic can also be found on my tumblr @fictional-thoughts
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 245





	Pretty Please

A gloved hand closes around your lips, silencing a soft yelp that escapes your lungs as he’s pushed you to the wall. The Mandalorian looms over you, blocking the light all broad shoulders, gleaming beskar armour, the blank look of his visor and gentle signs of life coming from the rise and fall of his chest in line with his steady breathing. He’s tall, and having you pressed to the wall outside a grimy bar at quarter to midnight in a foreign city makes him only look all the more intimidating.

“Right now?” His deepened voice crackles through the modulatar, helmet tilted down, he’s gazing at you but only he knows that, panels of light from the yellow street lamps glide over the crest of the helmet as he tentatively looks over his shoulder, out to the busy street only yards away, packed with wandering city go-ers it’s loud and buzzing with the feeling being out at night gives one, of freedoms and excitement.

You tug his hand away from your mouth, breathing through your nose heavily you glare at the Mandalorian. “Why not?” Leaned comfortably against the wall — trapped — you’re allowing a smile to tug at your lips, bright eyes watching the Mandalorian. “This is nice,”

“Quiet,” he sounds distracted and looks down at you, letting his left hand drop, the Mandalorians looking at you sternly, you can _feel_ it through the visor. 

“I think its quite perfect, actually.” You’re looking around, hearing him sigh deeply, wondering exactly why he puts up with you, he’s mulling over the idea of what you’d been suggesting to him only moments ago, back inside the warm building; leaned close to him inside the bar under the hazy lights, fingertips trailing over your glass you’d been murmuring dirty things, teasing, hinting of other things you wanted your lips wrapped around. She reminded him of the times before, lost in the throes of lust, she and the Mandalorian, together, of entangled limbs and buisning kisses, of the taste of her skin and he’s never felt anything so soft.

 _He wants you so bad_.

The Mandalorian had grown warm under the helmet, clearing his throat, avoiding looking at you he’d been shifting in his seat, forced himself not to think of you, how your body fits so perfectly with his, your pink lips, the curve of your waist, beautiful, a piece of art he’s only so lucky to have in his grasp.

“Yeah?” He’s bemused, not nearly feeling as confident as you had been, leading him outside the bar, past the fringe of people gathered around, laughing and drinking, the air smelt of smoke and the city, of cooking food and gasoline from parked ships on the outskirts of town. “You think so,”

“Mhm,” your hands slide over his shoulder pieces, slipping your fingers beneath the beskar you’re digging your nails into the material of his shirt, drawing a short breath from the Mandalorian. He’s so cute, almost innocent, his reactions to your touch like nothing you’ve been with before, raw and honest.

“Mando,” and he’s looking at you, locked in, his eyes linger on your lips, and his hand comes to trace down the angle of your jaw, curving down your neck he’s pulling at the soft material of the tight turtleneck shirt you’ve got on under a thin layering of dark armour, bulletproof padding, knife holsters and shiny bullet packs. “ _There’s no one here_ ,” you’ve got your lip trapped under your teeth, feeling the jumpstart of warmth settle itself at your core, rolling and heavy it’s coming in small waves and _gods_ his touch gets you so riled up. “I mean, aside from the pervy droid,” you nod your head at the figure behind Mando’s shoulder, “but he’s walking away.”

There’s laugher in your tone and the Mandalorians huffing, tugging your neck piece back up he’s pulling away. “Do you ever shut up?” He’s speaking over his shoulder to you and checking for the droid, he’s quick to anger and his fingers itch to grab the blaster at his side — but the robots hurrying on its way, strutting over the rubble on the cities streets. Voices and shouts are heard inside the bar, doors slam open and small groups of people walk past — if they slow down, look a little closer and peer to the left through the darkness, they would spot the Mandalorian and you so quickly.

“Nope,”

“You should consider silence.” He’s turned back to you, leaning on the wall again he’s towered over you, caged and feeling small you’re sliding yourself further up against the cold wall as he’s getting closer and closer, pushing the cold night air away till he and you are the only ones left in the space, lost in the moments, the memories of today’s fading away and you’re nodding, looking up into the Mandalorians visor with nothing but innocence, sultry, alluring innocence and it’s dragging him closer till he’s pulling his gloves off and got his hands round your waist. “Might be good for you.”

“You sure?” A whisper, light as air and you’re arching into him, letting your hands slide down his chest, palms pressed over the cold beskar armoury the Mandalorians adorned with. “I think you rather like the sound of my v-oice,” you’re words are clipped, cut short as he’s dragging his hands downward, squeezing the curve of your ass, shaping you, inching himself closer, his palm slides inwards and around, slipping between your warm bodies.

Mando rolls his eyes at your words, he’s annoyed with your teasing, the game, the constant back and forth, an unbalanced act of intangible intimacy; controlled, content, and the passionate, rough and dirty words. He can’t find where you sit on the balance and it angers him. But he _does_ like the sound of your voice, it fills his ears like a thousand prayers, soft on the edges with hints of a curled tongue, you’ve made him start to smile softly when you speak, telling him of anything — he’d listen to you for hours. “Maybe,” he feels your thighs tighten closed, your body reacting to his touch, melted and in a daze, the Mandalorian feels a tug of the familiar hotness deep within him as his fingers are slipping around the inseem of your thigh, he’s pulling it to the side and you’ve gripped his shoulder, swallowing a soft gasp.

“Want me to keep talking?” He’s pulling at the ties of your armour, unbuckling and moving the tight material to the side, hurried, smooth. You’re standing on tiptoe, leaned into him, engulfed in his presence — you’ve never let him have personal space anyways — close enough to graze your lips over the face of his helmet, in place of who he really was, you’re hands slide over his shoulders and clasp behind his head, elbows bending you’ve got him pulled close enough to whisper where his ears would be under the helmet. “I can tell you _everything_ I want you to do to me,” thinking, imagining of his hand curled around your throat, legs wrapped around him tightly as he’s fucking you against the cities wall, under the canopy of stars, moons and the vast openness.

You don’t care, under the light of the foreign city, pressed to the wall, the Mandalorians hands on you it’s a risk, a hidden and secret game, of will and the desperation of moments.

She’s so desperate. Mando bites his lip, keeps the satisfied groan at bay, your words, alluring and twisted with seduction — it’s working — hotness seeps under his armour, tugging at his self control. He wants to hear it, to take your whispered fantasies, bring them to a beautiful reality.

“No,” he’s saying, more to himself that to her, preoccupied with his hand between the two of you, your shirt slides up as his hand spans the softness of your stomach, past the ridges of your ribs and he’s got his hand on your breast, curved around the shape he’s pulling a moan from your lips.

“ _Gods_ , Mando,” her choked moans seem tens of times louder in the street, he’s sure everyone outside the bar can hear her they’ll come to investigate and god this is a bad idea.

“Quiet.” He’s ordering her, pushing her harder into the wall.

She’s smiling, eyes alight to match the stars she wants this so bad. “ _Make me_ ,”

A challenge, controlled by longing it’d twisted with her determination and the constant urge to get a rise out of the Mandalorian, to test him. It’s heated and hinting. He scoffs, pulls his hand from her shirt and pushes her back to the wall, forceful and just how she likes it he’s bringing a gasp from her lips she’s opening her mouth to speak again when he’s hand slips down her front. He’s silent, observant, watching her expressions as his fingers push past her underclothes, she’s warm under his touch and quivering and _wet_. He’s gathering her slickness, the drops of warmth borne of longing he’s got two fingers running up and down and soon they’re circling her most sensitive spot.

Fires spreading over his body and suddenly his armours too tight, he feels his own warm skin, every inch trapped under the thick material and heavy metal. His eyes drop to his hand between your thighs, then he’s looking at you. Eyes screwed shut you’re lost, high above the city, fists gripping his broad shoulders and lips parted — though you’re not making a sound. Each moment against you is burning hot, the looming and waves of pleasure is threatening to ruin you, peel back the layers of control, of conflict between emotions.

 _Now she’s quiet_.

You’re caught on the edge, so close to slipping you feel your knees weaken, heavy under the intoxicating fire spreading throughout your anatomy; indescribable, pulling it’s wrecking you.

Trembling, a shard of glass on the battle field you lean your forehead to his chest, the Mandalorian is balanced, of metal and weapons surrounding you it’s all you’ve got to grasp as his touch is slowly taking over, gentleness and silence forgotten you bite down on a gasp, voice lost in your lungs it’s nearly too much when two fingers curl inside, pushing up and dragging out he’s going slow on purpose. Eyes closed you’re in ecstasy, wrapped in the idea of risk, of challenge and Mandos so, so, so close to having you, to make you his own.

“ _Gods_ ,” your words come out in the form of a gasp, taunt and heavy you’d been holding in your breath, engulfed in the feeling, his hands cupped around your slicked cunt, his thumb grazes over the sensitive bud, feels your body jerk in reaction and all he wants to do is taste. Mando’s drunk on the sights and sounds, your breathings speeding up in time with the slow movements of his hand, he can just hear your longing whispers, tugging at his building arousal he’s imagining you back on his ship, spread and so close, he’d suck short kisses into your thighs, curve his hands over the smooth skin, something so soft and warm he’s never wanted anything more than to just duck under your thighs, pull your hips close and delve into your glistening cunt. He’d pick up on every moment, every tremor in breath, your hands tightening in his thick hair he’d moan against you, push impossibly closer and have you saying his name, a prayer on your tongue. “‘m so close Mando…”

He’s caught in your trap, your body leaned to his, weakened at the fault of pleasure, he’s holding you, grounded and balanced, pressing you to the cold wall — his chest heaving under your forehead, the beskar cooling under your hot skin. You’re hot and sweaty under the constricting armour, buried under the darkness of it you wonder how much you can get away with — can you pull free of his hands, unbuckle and free yourself from the armour? Tilt the Mandalorian’s restricting helmet back, to feel his lips on your skin? Kiss down your throat, curl his tongue over your breasts and teeth biting down into your skin — you’re thoughts are blocked by shooting and grinding and building pools of warmth, then suddenly you’re silent, lips parted but not a word is uttered, he’s got your form under control, a possession of fantasy, of demands and passion, curling two digits within you, fucking you, it’s not enough but too much all at once. Please, it’s not the end, the building breaks off, and he’s removing his hand from you, slipping from your soaked centre you suddenly feel empty, without the rush.

He’s stopped.

“ _What_ —” In the darkness between buildings of the city, you’re choked on whimpers, hands twisted in the material of the Mandalorians shirt, desperatly wrinkling it as your thighs tremble, of wind in a summer storm, waves crashing into the rocks, frigid, blinding — then it all stopped. “M-mando,”

He’s stepping back, rolling his broad shoulders and resisting every urge to forget his surroundings, break apart from the ties of decency. Your chest is dropping with heavy breaths, shirt pulled apart the arches of your breasts show beneath the covering, there’s just enough light to see the shadows glide across your skin, a spotlight on the feature artwork. You’re thinking of insults, caught on the brink of release he had stopped, teasing and mercilessly, “you’re so mean,” scolding, pushing back the urge to smile.

Wrecked, alive on the heat returning to your skin, the Mandalorian finds himself smirking under the mask, he’s close again and feels just how much you want him, the feelings mutual, he’s filled with the churning need, of indulgence and cravings and he’s growing in confidence, thick and heavy it’s dripping off him; he’s loosing shame he doesn’t seem to care anymore, of the placement in the cities streets where anyone could walk upon them. It’s making him hotter and he looks down at you, blushing and eyes only for him, he’s basked in your beauty, the sheer darkness and warmth he sees within her amazes him. “I thought I told you to be quiet.”

The reality sinks around you, the sounds and smells of the city snap back into focus. Then suddenly the air of risk is alight, you’ve got a twinkle in your eye, of which the suns and stars are envious and Mando’s sure he’d do anything for you, if only you looked at him that way again. “I dont recall,” your words cut short, the Mandalorians a step closer and finally touching you again, dripping in honey hes slow and careful, moulding you to his form you’re trembling again, excitment and something else building with you.

The Mandalorians armour is pressing into your skin, digging and cold you gasp as he hitches your thigh around his waist properly, a clinking and grind of his armour and he’s mumbling a quick “ _sorry_ ,” before shifting you again, muttering as his capes caught on your thigh holster. It’s rushed and whirled within the buzzing feeling of the risk. Of staying silent, on edge, that anyone could walk past.

“Keep going,” he’s as close to you as possible, your high over his side, he’s got you pinned, tight to the wall you bite down on a moan as you feel him brush past your core, tingles erupt over the plains of your skin and all you want is for him to remove his helmet, to distract your lips with his own, sliding against and bruising you crave the clash of lips and teeth, to feel him groan into your mouth, lost in the cage of passion. Its all too much and you’re sure you’ll collaspe with weakness, its a rustle of clothing, hushed movements and clinking of armour nearly masked with the covering sound of heavy breathing, soft sighs and clipped swears. He’s painfully hard and chasing the feels of release, your thigh wrapped around him its only the perfect angle, she’s slicked and finally he can step a little closer, hitching her up inches higher she’s sinking around him, arching her back from the wall they’re both lost in the trance of the moment. Mando’s paused, caved over forwards he’s leaned onto her shoulder, chewing his lip under the helmet he tests a movement, pushing further into her she gasps loudly.

His hand closes around her mouth, sealing her lips from sound he’s getting a rythm. Pushing her into the wall harder at each thrust, its a battle between control and risk, nearly silent he’s wrapped up, sunken into her, clothes the only barrier between them in the dead of night, he’s fixing his posture and his grip on her, one hand under her thigh the other closed around her lips hes connected to her in more ways that that, so _tight_ and warm around him its a mess of burned desire, flowing through him he’s pulling her hips from the wall, getting her up and under him the Mandalorian feel’s every milimeter of her, slicked and smooth, traces dipped in honey. “Gods,” his tone, manipulated by the mask its still raspy, broken by the seductive distractions of her body to his, its hard stringing together cohernt words. “ _Fuck_ ,”

You’re struggling with movement, the overheated and overwhelming rush of the Mandalorians increasing roughness — it’s fire, sent to burn down the cities it’s destructive, burning. You gasp and moan his name, muffled by his hand over your lips, thankful of that as each time he’s fucked up into you, dragging you closer to the steep edge you’re only getting louder. Hands gripping anywhere you can reach, blinded by half lidded eyes through the darkness he’s everywhere, around you, his voice, deep and dripping with ragged intensity it’s only fueling the flames. Tears form at the corners of your eyes, prickling your lashes you squeeze them shut, curling your fists in the material of his shirt and armour you’re so close it’s nearly unbearable. He’s hard and hot and thick, pressing you indescribably close, he’s using you — and it’s all that you want him to do.

“This is what you wanted?” He’s loosing himself, his pose of toughness, of battles and ruined ships through the galaxy, his voice curls with broken whines, softening on his tongue. It’s a bribe, your flushed body undenying of the human pleasures, and he’s taken it. “Wanted me? Right here?”

You’re nodding, albeit frustrated at how quickly the Mandalorian can pull you to the edge, you want it to last for hours, drag on and on till you’re trembling, lost of air in your lungs until he’s all you have to breath through, to live on. But each hit, the bruising stroke of his cock against the pooling warmth at your core — it’s holding you over the edge. The fall is steep, and you know it’s coming fast.

The lights, the voices and beings of the city, of the vast openings and at the same time, of isolation. Over your travels of the galaxy, every path and turn you’ve made for yourself, has landed you being fucked by a Mandalorian outside a bar. And _so_ well at that. He’s ripped from you all words, and his quiet grunts and shifts of breath falter, pushed on by the adrenaline of the risk, he’s nearly there. His hand leaves your lips and winds around your throat, the lines of his fingertips pressed into the soft sides your neck, a flood of pleasure leaks from your centre, warming him and you.

“Please,” you’re choked, jerking up as he’s fucking you faster, harder, chasing after the promised release. _Pretty please_. You’ve tightened your thigh around him, curved around his waist, tangled in weapon holsters and edges of guns and knives — the danger of it. “Mando…”

He’s faltering, using the full force at each hit he’s pulling you from the wall, muscles strained he’s falling into a delirious trance, you’re all he’s got, soft whimpers fill his ears and the sights of you, glazed over under the hazy and limited light of the city’s lamps, flashing red and orange it’s poetry. His hand squeezes your thigh, and he’s groaning, shaking under the pressure, the Mandalorian feels you tense, and you’re gonna win the race, slipping around him, the ridges of armour and leather press to her skin. He’d never expected it to be this good, and it surprises him every time, the relentless feelings, urges and the softness she brings to him.

 _Don’t stop, don’t stop don’t stop_. You’re squeezed around him, locked your thigh around him it mirrors the grasp he’s got on your throat, delicate and pulling the air from your lungs it’s aiding in the build up, sinful and longing, the crashing of violent waves upon a thousand sands, you feel him under you; together under the secrecy of exposure — but isn’t that the rush? The feeling of getting caught? You gasp, wetted lips parted your cores tightening, that burning familiar coil wound tight and times running out, he’s got to keep going.

Mandos breath shutters, he’s saying your name, hot on his lips you’re all he can see. Then he’s jerking your form close, unwinding from the bridge of emotions, of forbidden feelings but it’s all to much. He’s pushed against you, thick and hot and deeper then he’s paused, the warmth of your cunt squeezed around him, sending shocks through his nerves. You’re trembling, hot on release you’re drowning in him, weakened against the Mandalorian he grunts and lifts you, crashes your back to the grimy and hard wall you slide your other leg around his own, caught on bullet cases and shining beskar armour. “Come on..” his breath is shuttering in his lungs, you’re all that’s surrounding him, body tense and arched with rocks of pleasure, each hit is masked with bruising force, focused on dragging it out, stretching it over the line of pleasure and pain, he wants to make it last forever.

“M-mando —” Its hitting you like lightning, hot and flashing it’s curling up inside you, hot and thick the Mandalorians fucked out, slipping from the edge you’d just fallen from you both land in a daze. Ripped from the planet, crashing together he’s buried so deep you’re sure he’ll break you. “ _Gods you’re so good_.”

You swallow gasps and his hand leaves your throat, it lands on the wall beside your head and his own comes to rest on your shoulder, the metal cooling against the exposed skin. Under the helmet the Mandalorians got his eyes screwed shut, sunken into the feelings drifting off the entangled lovers. She’s soaked, filled and fucked out, wrecked and she’s holding onto him, braced to the cold wall he’s finally slowing down. Controlling his pace. The Mandalorian falls from his high, muscles relaxed, wrecked from overdrive. He’s finding words to string together but nothings going to make sense. “That was…” it was quick, rushed and twisted with urges of passion and longing.

“Great.” You sigh, lean back against the cool wall and let your legs slide away from him, he’s straightening up and gazing down at your blushing cheeks, swollen lips and bright eyes. Bodies abuzz with leftover adrenaline, the lovers pull themselves back together, pick up the forgotten pieces left on the ground, you straighten your armour and watch the Mandalorian rebuckle and clip his own armour, pull his gloves back over his hands. You’re still caught in the moment of release and feel the hotness still thick between your thighs. He could have you over and over again and it wouldn’t be enough. “We should do this again sometime,” you’re gesturing at the vast openness around you, the reminder of the risk.

The Mandalorian looks over you, the helmet tilts to the side, picking out the small details of you he loves and he forgets where they are in the moment. He’s quiet, watching you, and you both feel the settling sounds of the foreign city, lights are fading and so are the voices. He turns away and begins to leave. “You need to work on your volume.”

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is also so appreciated!


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